PREMIERE.COM'S REVIEW (posted 3/4/05)


Not long after popping in the new Special Edition DVD of Barry Sonnenfeld’s Get Shorty, the vintage and slightly-vinegar scent of “mid-nineties Tarantino knock-off” starts permeating through the cynical variations of its single joke: Hollywood producers, agents, managers and gangsters are all apparently cut from the same mold.  At least, that’s the heart of Elmore Leonard’s comic pulp-fiction, whose novels serve as the basis for both that overrated 1995 hit and director F. Gary Gray’s blunderingly out-of-touch, star-studded embarrassment of a sequel, Be Cool.

For his long-belated second go-around as Chili Palmer—the Brooklyn-raised shylock who found near-instant success as a movie mogul in Get Shorty—John Travolta is surprisingly spirited, although his tranquil tough-guy routine has been reduced to telegraphed laughs like “Don’t mention the Russians,” “I’ll handle this,” and his recycled mantra, “Look at me.”  After witnessing the public shooting of his record-biz buddy (James Woods), Chili capriciously decides to try his hand at the music industry, reacquainting himself with the leggy widow (Uma Thurman in an unrewarding, tanned-chick role) and an up-and-coming R&B singer (Christina Milian) who everyone wants a piece of.  Here, the motley crew of “everyone” means Harvey Keitel as Milian’s seedy manager; Vince Vaughn as Keitel's partner, a Jewish wannabe-gangsta buffoon; The Rock as Vaughn's gay bodyguard, whose stereotypical flamboyance is minstrel-show offensive save for one amusing monologue from Bring it On; plus the only two characters to walk away from this habitually unfunny cheese-fest unscathed: Cedric the Entertainer as an Ivy League-educated, Suge Knight-esque hip-hop producer, and OutKast's André "3000" Benjamin as his dopey thug cousin.  Chili once again plays everyone against each other so he may rise to glory (representing Milian as she finds her ultimate success singing back-up for Steven Tyler—and who decided the aging Aerosmith was a hip casting choice?), but if there's a savvy media satire hiding amidst this scene-chewing surplus of crusty caricatures, somebody forgot to adapt those pages.  Or maybe they were cut to make room for more tasteless product placements?

As annoyingly self-referential as a Soderbergh caper (but without the wit or purpose) and overlappingly vignetted like a Guy Ritchie flick (but without the stylish pizzazz), the overcooked Be Cool's most disturbing flaw is how the hip-hop motif unfurls some of the most ridiculously honky-white moments.  Who could possibly believe an oldster like Keitel would ever say "I gotta jump" or that Thurman could comfortably nickname someone "Chill?"  And if you're going to re-team her and Travolta on the dance floor, at least put some effort into making the scene "Sexy," especially when that's the Black Eyed Peas song they're stiffly posturing to.

—Aaron Hillis